Glory Days
by Aneko Kohana
Summary: HPBTVS x-over. Glory, Buffy&Co. and friend of Dawn’s all end up in the wizarding world. Surprisingly, Dawn’s friend is the most important.
1. The Chase

Disclaimer: I own Mahogany Rowan Parks, but that's it. Joss Whedon (I think I spelled that right) and JKR own it all. I just steal them and make no money...muahaha! So EVIL!!!  
  
Summary: HP/BTVS x-over. Glory, Buffy&Co. and friend of Dawn's all end up in the wizarding world. Surprisingly, Dawn's friend is the most important.  
  
This starts right after Tara goes insane. Willow and Tara were at the park with Willow hugging Tara and the rest of the Co. were in their various positions. Dawn I think was at school, so that's why her friend is with her. I wasn't sure exactly what month it was, so I made it July.  
  
Glory Days  
  
Chapter One: Chased  
  
"WEASLEY!" came a loud roar from the top floor of the Burrow.  
  
"The battle cry of Potter," Fred said, tilting his chair back onto two legs and smirking at his twin.  
  
"GIVE. ME. BACK. MY. BROOMSTICK!"  
  
"I have no idea what you are talking of, brother dear," George called.  
  
A loud snarling noise came from the room Harry and Ginny shared at the very top of the Burrow and Harry came stomping down the stairs.  
  
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY LIGHTNINGBOLT?!" he bellowed.  
  
"Simply made a few...improvements," Fred snickered.  
  
Harry roared like a lion and lunged for the twins, who immediately ran as fast as they could into the living room.  
  
"It's under the couch," George panted calmly, like trying to convince an angry bull to back down. "I'll just reach under and get it. See? My other hand is up."  
  
"If you've harmed a single twig...," Harry growled.  
  
"You'll hang, draw, and quarter us before hexing our remains to all corners of the universe," Fred completed.  
  
Harry growled again and Fred jumped. George, smirking, held out Harry's LightningBolt.  
  
Villagers in Ottery St. Catchpole later swore that they had heard the bellow of an angry bull.  
  
"YOU'VE MANGLED MY BROOMSTICK!"  
  
"Oh dear," Fred whispered. "This went rather wrong."  
  
"You could say that again."  
  
Then they ran.  
  
"YOU IMMATURE, PRANKING WEASELS!"  
  
"Why thank you, Harry." George beamed. "I like to think of myself as having the soul of a five-year-old."  
  
Harry bellowed again. George shut up. They bolted out the door, around the kitchen coop, to the side of the house and shinnied up the drainpipe to the roof.  
  
"It's...it's...," Harry stammered, mournfully looking at the broom still clutched in his hand.  
  
"Pink?" Fred offered helpfully.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
The twins had gotten ahold of Harry's LightningBolt, the newest in the Firebolt series, and made it entirely, vivid, neon pink.  
  
Mrs. Weasley poked her head out the door and looked up. Her eyebrows dove downward like hawks.  
  
"GET DOWN!" she yelled. "Harry, why is your broomstick pink?" She immediately glared at her sons. "When I get up there..."  
  
"I'll take care of it," Harry said hopefully.  
  
"Nonsense. I'm their mother therefore hold the right to be the one to Obliviate every prank charm those two know."  
  
Harry sighed heavily and slid down the drainpipe and left his brothers-in- law to Mrs. Weasley. Ginny was in the kitchen. She raised her eyebrows at him.  
  
"What was that about?"  
  
Harry held out his broom for an answer. "Your brothers," he growled, "have destroyed my new broom."  
  
"Can I break their noses?" Ginny asked hopefully.  
  
"Your mother might."  
  
"Wasn't all that a bit...much?"  
  
"It was my broomstick! My brand new, very expensive, international standard broom!"  
  
"That was named for you," Ginny added deviously.  
  
Harry groaned. "Ginny!"  
  
The Firebolt Corporation had come out with their new broom a short time after Harry defeated Voldemort, and therefore named it the LightningBolt in honor of his scar. The Weasleys found this very amusing and missed no opportunities to tell Harry so. Harry's wife, Ginny, certainly didn't.  
  
"Yes, I do. You turn a quite fetching shade of red. Nowhere near mine or Ron's, though."  
  
In the middle of another blush, nine people suddenly appeared in the middle of the kitchen. 


	2. Mahogany Park

In case you were wondering, Creative Flair is not an outlet store. It's about half the size of a department store. That's why they're rich.  
  
DON'T flame me about the Mahogany/Slayer, Ron/Watcher thing. It will all be explained. Patience is a virtue which I unfortunately do not possess.  
  
Draco's name is not shortened to Drakey cuz it's tacky. Drake is much more refined.  
  
Glory Days  
  
Chapter Two: Mahogany Park  
  
Mahogany Rowan Park VIII had a great life.  
  
She was rich, smart, beautiful, athletic, talented, and her parents loved her to pieces.  
  
Not.  
  
Although she was rich, smart, gorgeous, athletic, and quite talented in some things, her parents hardly ever even noticed her except to model or design or handle a business deal or something similar. The Parks owned a chain of clothing stores across California called Creative Flares, which brought in an extraordinary amount of money. Even Cordelia Chase, when she was in Sunnydale, wasn't as rich, smart, beautiful, athletic, or talented as Mahogany.  
  
Mahogany had been gifted with deep red hair naturally streaked with chestnut and gold. Her heart-shaped face possessed the creamy complexion every woman, young and old, envies, and her lips were plump and shaped like a cherub's bow. Her eyes were wide and a rare shade of green that turned turquoise when she was very angry and grey-blue when she was sad. Her eyelashes were long, thick, and black, although her eyebrows were th same color as her hair. Her figure made her look more twenty-five than seventeen, to her everlasting delight, and her usual clothing was a tight t- shirt and low-rise, hip-hugging flares with high-heeled black boots.  
  
Today, however, was different. Her parents were opening their newest store in the Sunnydale Mall, Mahogany's favorite hangout. Mahogany, being the one of the family who was the most well-known, got to cut the red ribbon. Seeing as Creative Flares sold every kind of clothes from wedding gowns to prom dresses to jeans to pajamas, although all were trendy, whenever a new store opened, it was a big deal. Especially a store like Creative Flares.  
  
Therefore, Mahogany was wearing a midnight blue velvet dress held up by sequined spaghetti straps that reached just past her knees. It was tight- fitting and low-cut, which was probably why so many boys had showed up. Her shoes were rather uncomfortable though beautiful, tiny, high-heeled sandals covered of the same material as her dress with sequins on the heels. Her toenails and inch-long fingernails had been painted with deep blue polish with a coat of glitter on top to match the dress. Her hair was pulled back in a simple braid bun with blue, glittery clips holding back small, curled strands of hair, and around her neck was a sapphire heart set into silver, a birthday present from her father.  
  
She was also expected to make a speech, being vice president, one of the designers, and one of the models for Creative Flares and actually having designed her own dress. She smiled and waved at the crowd as she stepped up to the cheap podium the mall kept on hand.  
  
"Hello, California and welcome to Sunnydale!" she said with a big smile at the TV cameras. She briefly glanced down at the notepad in front of her before continuing. "I am overjoyed that we have finally opened a Creative Flares store in my own hometown's shopping center. The teens of the city will be just as happy, I am sure." Several parents laughed. "And of course, this could not be possible without the president of Creative Flares and my mother, Myrtle Park!" There was a little scattered applause for Mahogany's homely mother. "And my father, as CEO, has achieved an amazing amount for the family business." Light applause for the aging Rowan Park VI. "Now, with great pleasure, I will now open Creative Flares of the Sunnydale Mall of Sunnydale, California, to the public!"  
  
She easily picked up the giant pair of scissors, and sliced through the thick ribbon over the entrance to the store. The crowd cheered and surged as a whole through the door and started towards the refreshments table that had been set up.  
  
Mahogany was paying careful attention to the guests. People like Death Eaters, vampires, demons, and psychotic Slayers had a tendency to show up at her parties. The last thing she needed was Glorificus gate-crashing at the mall with about eighty of her minions at her shoulders. And Glory had no sense of when to wear what clothes. She was always showing up in a cocktail dress, even if she was at the Sunnydale dump, which she usually wasn't.  
  
Mahogany chose a paper cup of punch and sipped it carefully, so as not to smudge her lipstick. At least the local Summers, Summers, Rosenberg, Harris&Emerson was doing her job. Of course, Mahogany technically shouldn't have had Slayer strength, but that was what you got for being a descendant of a Vampire Slayer and a graduate (with honors!) of Hogwarts.  
  
Her sort-of Watcher was at the opening, easily distinguishable thanks to his bright red hair and height of 6'6".  
  
"Anything?" Weasley muttered.  
  
"No. Just a bunch of old idiots trying to act cool. I hate it when they do that almost as much as I hate this dress."  
  
"I hate this suit more than you hate your dress," he complained, tugging at his scarlet tie, making the gold pinstripes stand out.  
  
"You're twenty. You should be used to suits. Or at least dress robes."  
  
"I never wore suits and I rarely wore dress robes before I started working for you."  
  
"You're my secretary, remember, not my Watcher."  
  
"I'm not technically your Watcher. I just watch you."  
  
"And the difference is..."  
  
"You weren't chosen. Your twenty-eighth great-grandmother was just stupid enough to have a daughter and your great-great-grandmother was idiotic enough to cross-breed a Slayer bloodline with a magical one, though all the kids but you were Squibs."  
  
"Remind me, will you? Besides, I'm not Marcella."  
  
"Might I remind you that every one of her descendants for twenty-seven generations after that had one girl and two boys exactly, even if they had to be triplets?"  
  
"Except my parents."  
  
"It's almost a guarantee that your mother will have another boy at some point, who will not have Slayer strengths. It's only you women who get that gift."  
  
"Gift, my a-"  
  
"Miss Park, I do not think that this is an appropriate place to be mentioning any such crude words," drawled a silky voice from behind her.  
  
Two pale hands rested on her shoulders. Mahogany twisted her head to look straight into the steel eyes of her boyfriend.  
  
"Hello, Icedragon," she murmured.  
  
"Hello, Princess. And when did you stop calling me Drake? Although Icedragon is quite nice," he said in his adorable British accent. Mahogany matched it easily, thanks to years of living in London.  
  
"Why, Mr. Malfoy, I do believe that your hand is wandering dangerously close to my backside. Please remove it immediately or I will be forced to take action."  
  
The two smiled lovingly at each other and briefly kissed. Weasley scowled. Mahogany was very well aware of the enmity between her semi-Watcher and her boyfriend, but had never managed to get the story behind that and doubted she ever would. However, she always did find it amusing that Draco looked alarmingly like Spike, as she reminded him often. He often dressed like him, too, complete with red shirt, black duster, and bleached hair that was neatly slicked-back. They even had the same nose and jawline, although Draco didn't have a scar on his eyebrow. He had one on his cheekbone instead, a thick white line running downwards from just next to his ear to his jaw. It would have made some men ugly, but with Draco, it just gave him a warrior-prince-like look.  
  
"We were just discussing whether or not Slayer skills are a gift or a curse handed from Glory herself."  
  
"Ah," Draco said. "The Queen B."  
  
"Don't forget the itch," Mahogany added fiercely. "Freaking woman's got it in for me, I swear. I'm glad I'm not the real Slayer."  
  
"But you still-"  
  
"Have responsibilities. Yes, I know, O British Git. Leave me be for a little so I can mingle with California's rich and successful, which does not include you two Brits."  
  
"Hey!" said Draco, offended. "And anyways, you're a Brit too, in case you've forgotten!"  
  
"I didn't mean you, Icedragon. Just the Watchers Council. And I'm American- born, although I'll admit I lived in England from when I was two until I was fourteen and attended a boarding school there from when I was eleven until June, and my heritage is entirely Scottish and Irish, which I don't classify as British. So there."  
  
"Let's get punch," said Draco, pouting in defeat.  
  
In the few seconds it took to walk the ten feet between where they stood and the refreshments table, quite a bit happened.  
  
For starters, Slayer&Co appeared out of thing air in the middle of Mahogany's party. For another, so did Glory and way too many of her minions for just Draco, Mahogany, and Ron to deal with. So not only did they whip out weapons, so did Buffy's little gang. They began hacking up minions and shoving guests out of the way, Buffy never noticing the girl fighting alongside of her.  
  
"Ruddy skirt," Mahogany growled.  
  
She waved her hand down the length of her body from her neck to her thighs and was instantly clothed in a tight-fitting black leather vest, very loose black pants, and your basic boots, although these were specially modified with extra-sharp heels that classified as stakes, so therefore were quite handy. Inside each boot was a sheathed dagger, a stake, and tucked into the two breast pockets of the vest were two crosses, and Mahogany also wore a large Celtic cross round her neck. And that wasn't counting the tattoo on the spot of the neck vamps most often targeted. It wasn't her only tattoo, either, all of which were revealed by the vest, as they were on her shoulderblades and lower back.  
  
She whipped out a dagger from the right boot and a stake from the left and went to work, dusting and stabbing and shoving stupid, gallant guests away.  
  
Glory herself laughed and clapped her hands in delight. Mahogany glared and stabbed her last few minions in front of her so she was standing straight in front of the hell goddess herself.  
  
"Your boots suck, kid," she commented. "I mean, no one wears stilettos anymore."  
  
Mahogany balled her hands into fists, placed them on her nicely curved hips, and stood up straighter, righteously indignant. After all, she did design the entire ensemble. "No one wears a one-of-a-kind Gucci to a mall."  
  
"But that dress you were wearing just a few minutes again?" Glory continued. "So nineties. And you really looked like a slut. Try higher necklines for your fake boobs."  
  
Mahogany gasped and her fist came up, still holding the dagger. It whistled towards Glory with incredible speed, so much speed, in fact, that even Glory couldn't stop it.  
  
The jagged knife tore a deep wound into her cheek, cutting all the way through so that the blade was actually between her teeth.  
  
And a flash of power shocked through Glory, down the knife, the hilt, Mahogany's hand, her arm, her neck her head.  
  
Then all was still. 


End file.
